


Kingdom Fall

by CerebralHedonist



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Heterosexuality, Post-Canon, Romance, Royai - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:13:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24221866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CerebralHedonist/pseuds/CerebralHedonist
Summary: Fire.The way he touches… the way he loves… the way he conquers… It’s always compared to a roaring flame consuming all that it touches. He leaves permanent scars on pinked skin and bowed back just like he does his enemies. It’s a consistent metaphor that follows him every step from Flame Alchemist to Flame Colonel to Flame General…Always fire. Always destructive. Always an all-encompassing passion.It’s such a cliché way to describe stained glass without stepping foot into the Cathedral.That isn’t how I describe him.Roy Mustang is not the fire, or the burn left behind. He isn’t a flash that obliterates all in an instant, nor an ember in the ashes that, if left unattended, brought desolation upon the neglectful.No…Roy is smoke.The warning and the assassin. The mercy killing that grants a breathless death if no one raised the alarm. He drifts in, careful, unnoticed, and doubted. After him… the deluge. Whether it be flame or extinguishing water, the flood always follows his wake.That is how he loves me.---The fall of a King Killer and Rise of a Queen (One-Shot). Done for a RoyAi Zine
Relationships: Riza Hawkeye & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Kingdom Fall

_Fire._

_The way he touches… the way he loves… the way he conquers… It’s always compared to a roaring flame consuming all that it touches. He leaves permanent scars on pinked skin and bowed back just like he does his enemies. It’s a consistent metaphor that follows him every step from Flame Alchemist to Flame Colonel to Flame General…_

_Always fire. Always destructive. Always an all-encompassing passion._

_It’s such a cliché way to describe stained glass without stepping foot into the Cathedral._

_That isn’t how I describe him._

_Roy Mustang is not the fire, or the burn left behind. He isn’t a flash that obliterates all in an instant, nor an ember in the ashes that, if left unattended, brought desolation upon the neglectful._

_No…_

_Roy is smoke._

_The warning and the assassin. The mercy killing that grants a breathless death if no one raised the alarm. He drifts in, careful, unnoticed, and doubted. After him… the deluge. Whether it be flame or extinguishing water, the flood always follows his wake._

_That is how he loves me._

_We share breath until my lungs are filled with him. The atmosphere about him is always so dense that it tingles my skin. In the darkest hour, he scorches me inside and out in way fire never could and douses the self-hatred we share more purely than blood. All else becomes incoherent when he suffocates me with his focus. That is how he conquered me._

_It is because of this, I hesitate._

_I see the warning signs so clearly. Of what he can become as he bows his head to superiors in subtle insult. In that moment of dishonesty he shows them, I see the man who precedes the rain of fire as he warns those who sit the throne._

_I am wary of the moment I cannot sound the alarm and stop the flood._

_Wary of the moment my hand trembles._

The Promise Day brought opportunities no one could’ve predicted, much less prepared for. Years of powerplay were accomplished in a single apocalyptic swing of Edward Elric’s fist. In its wake, deep scars of absolute faith and trust were left behind that Riza couldn’t ignore anymore. So, when Roy stared at her quietly through diluted pearl—somehow gentler than the intense stygian of before—she felt the sting on her throat and the burn in her shoulder. His newly issued rank and pending retirement didn’t weaken the density and power of his presence for her. Rather it electrified it.

Riza drew back the curtain of hair, never one to hide from him. She pinned it there as she pretended his brow didn’t twitch at the gentle shush. His hearing had adapted so quickly.

_Dangerous Creature…_

It was the click his ears sought. The mechanical snap of the slider as a round chambered, presenting itself judge and jury. It was loud. Even for her ears that were nearly deaf to it at this point. Despite Roy’s blindness, he unnervingly stared down the barrel at her. Through her.

She didn’t tremble.

Roy smiled at her.

When Riza went to her grandfather after Marco’s visit, her eyes were sharp, and her wounds healed. Fuhrer Grumman—always cunning—gave stoic scrutiny that ran deep in their shared blood. When he spoke of Roy in admiration, hope permeated the room and she wasn’t certain if it was from or from herself. However, the final question still came.

“Can you still do it?”

“My hands are steady.”

Riza inhaled…

Ignition Cloth had a unique feel to it. The scrape was thought to be like sandpaper, grainy, and uncomfortable even for its wearer. Riza supposed if had Roy been anyone else, then that would be true. Many often overlooked the Flame Alchemist behind the General. Roy shined brightly amongst his scientific peers in ways that had nothing to do with combat. Riza could attest to this as she lay on his couch, head propped on her fist. The silhouette of broad shoulders against the firelight ensnared her as she observed. She was no alchemist; her understanding was rudimentary at best, yet Roy insisted on her presence and input when he fashioned new gloves.

There was a certain eeriness in the perfection of his transmutations now. The laying out of materials needed was methodical and familiar, but the sharp clap of bare hands disconcerted her. After all, that sound was associated with Edward. But she found that all circles alchemist developed their own style—a signature of sorts—to their claps. Roy was no exception. Abrupt. Authoritative. It demanded silence in the flood to follow. Riza would know it anywhere.

Just like his snaps.

“Finished.” The blue arcs died around his hands.

His eyes met hers. Power met resolve and found weakness as his fingers slipped into stainless white. Riza tilted her head back just so, her pulse jumping only once. Clothed fingers rested against her skin and his thumb brushed the thin scar at her neck. A tease at best; a test at worst.

Yes, ignition cloth had a unique feel to it.

“How’s it feel for you?”

Clinical. That was how it used to be asked, but not anymore. Not with that gaze. Her words caught in her throat as his palm slid to her shoulder, brushing away the strap of her tank. The cloth was perfect; rather than scrape and redden skin, it electrified. Riza swallowed, no visible change in her demeanor save for the dilation of pupils that turned her ruby gaze to deep garnet. He dared her to look away. She didn’t.

“Different,” she admitted, unaffected. “Sneaks up on you.”

Roy smirked, pushing the strap just a bit further down and never breaking his gaze. “That’s the idea.”

Riza nodded as he lifted her chin just a bit higher. Dark eyes flicked to her neck, to that telling white line. Power met resolve once again and forced a spreading crack.

“Can you still do it?” he asked, curious.

“My hands are steady.”

Roy kissed her.

Riza inhaled.

A Gala in honor of 5-Star General Roy Mustang. Armestris dress blues became sleek blacks in the changing political climate. The first evening gown she’s worn in twenty years brushes her ankles in sharp high heels. He called her beautiful and she ignored him. This is the first time he has held her publicly. This is the first time he’s stated his intentions towards her. He’s cocky, sure of himself, and of his stage—a balcony covered in roses and lit by the loud boom of fireworks. He left his question in a circle of gold dangling from a chain in her gloved palms. A literal whirlwind. Was this where she intended this to go?

It was hard to breathe.

Of course, neither of them expected the assassination attempt, no matter how inevitable it seemed. The ignition cloth worked almost horrifyingly perfect, its heat and timing unmatched. It was worth the knife tearing into the flank of her dress and goring her side for the absolute trust and gratefulness shown by her grandfather and the present clout. Roy left it all behind to carry her off her feet to his car and get her to the hospital. Was this where she intended this to go?

Her lungs began to burn.

Lying barely conscious now, his head was heavy against her bare breast as though it’d always been there. His calloused fingers stroked tenderly at the wound bandages protecting fresh stitches. Her fingers carded through his hair and her gaze affixed on the silvery-blue light on the ceiling as she contemplated the slightly cold metal against her chest. It rested before his face on a platinum chain, its red hue overpowering the paleness of her skin. This… wasn’t where she intended this to go…

She inhaled…

Riza couldn’t ignore the way Grumman eyed the engagement ring. It didn’t help that she fidgeted idly with it as they talked. It wasn’t without cause, though. This was a troublesome subject and she wasn’t so much a coward that she would dodge it.

“You’re sick,” she said evenly.

“Sick with age,” Grumman’s laugh turned into a wet cough. “Will you say yes?”

“I’m reserving judgment,” Riza replied, a wry smile poisoning her humor.

“Well then, you better make up your mind quick. Can’t afford to lose your place at his side.”

“I will always be at his side. I don’t need to be a queen to do so.”

“But don’t you want it?” he asked, smiling knowingly.

Riza tensed, looking down at the deep ruby that reflected the tincture of her eyes. The gold engraved symbol for the flame—created by her father, transformed by Roy—glinted its promise. She lifted her gaze to Grumman’s frailty with a certain respect, wishing that this was not the only instance that they were honest with each other.

“Your hands have always been steady, Riza. Even for me,” he mused in a gentle voice. “Perhaps that stolidity was my greatest mistake. I didn’t allow you to be a girl. Furthermore denied your right to be a woman. Your trust has always been hard-earned and you would still pull the trigger on me. But, Roy Mustang has done something I never could for you…”

“Grandfather—”

“I’ve put Mustang forth as my successor.”

Silence.

“Yes, I’m giving in. Which leaves one obstacle.”

“You’re sick,” Riza squeezed the ring tight in her palm. “You’ve been sick for a long time.”

“This is going to kill me _slowly._ Once it’s out, those vultures will cast a vote of no confidence giving them the power to overwrite any decisions made from the point of diagnosis. Mustang’s reinstatement as General and all promotions therein, _including_ being the next Fuhrer.”

Riza shook her head. “Before Bradley, the choice of Fuhrer belonged to the people. Why would they want that to change? We worked so hard, why would _you_ want that? What was the point to make this far and gain the people’s trust if you didn’t plan to let the people decide?”

“You already know the answer. You’re chasing your tail at this point.”

Grumman rose from his chair, back hunched and hands clasped behind him. He walked past Riza to gaze out at Central Command.

“Amestris is not ready for democracy. She’s not ready to have control considering how easily she gave it up. We reside in the snake pit and thus power does not need to be in the people’s hands. Amestris needs a Leader… She needs a _King._ ”

Heaviness bore down on Riza’s shoulders, made worse by the gentle trembling hands adding the just the right amount of pain that forced Riza to close her eyes against it.

“A kind is what I can’t be, my dear. Certainly not a benevolent one.”

Riza clenched her hands. “You want…”

“Be the witness and keep your hands steady.”

Riza leaned into Grumman, her shoulders shaking as a sob tried to crawl from deep inside. It carried guilt, anger, and longing that stole her breath until she couldn’t hold it back. He hugged and shushed her.

“There is no wrong in wanting to be protector rather than a killer.”

It happened faster than anticipated. A peaceful nap inside his home. A much-deserved rest for such a great man. That was how Riza chose the end to be painted when she saw the pain begin to show. The brass’s predatory gaze had forced him to be housebound and Riza was trusted with the execution of his will. At the end, when Riza “found” him dead, she wiped clean the lip of his night time tea and burned the gloves.

Another whirlwind…

Another trial…

Legality, legitimacy, lunacy…

A circus rather than a celebration of a great man.

On his grave, Riza resigned her post and returned willfully to Roy’s side.

The night the deliberation took place, neither allowed to be present. Riza didn’t care as she brushed through her hair in the mirror. She let the towel fall from her bare body and danced her fingers over her past. The patch of white from the gala. The thing line of the Promise Day. The scorch of Mustang’s careful violence. What could she offer of herself other than a broken crown and a bloodied sword? She had nothing now.

He never asked for more.

This night, Roy Mustang slipped into her like silken smoke and filled her with his touch. Confined by it. _Contained._ There was no struggle in it. No desire to hide from him. Only breath to give and she finally suffocated in the intimacy of it. As they lay in silence, her head against his chest, the life she promised so long ago to end thudded against her ear in a bittersweet melody. The call came.

Riza sat up as he hummed his melancholy gratitude into the receiver. His hand froze in hanging up the phone when a loud click resounded in the quiet. Roy turned slowly, black eyes on Riza who held the barrel close to his face. Power met resolve…

“Riza Hawkeye.”

He colored her name with something she _longed_ for but was never ready to hear.

_Her hand trembled._

The gun slipped easily from her fingers to his, the releasing weight of it tearing a sob from her as she fell forward into his chest. Roy glided his hand along her hip, up her scars to the ring draped between her breasts. A sharp tug snapped the chain. He tilted her chin up to make her watch as he slid the ring onto her left hand. It was so warm. He brought that unsteady hand to his lips, taking her power and her resolve. Taking all of her as a woman…

Roy whispered against her palm.

“My hands are steady.”

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to show the complication between Roy and Riza that I always felt was there and I kinda took it somewhere unique in that Riza has never been allowed to just be a woman, but always a companion because she's devoted in seeing him either succeed or making sure he can't fail. This prevents her from allowing her own feelings for him to show through fully. The final wall to fall comes with him becoming fuhrer and thus she's able to let go and be at his side for real. I hope you enjoyed it!


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